deepundergroundpoetry.com
Anathema
Immured within repetition.
Blood-thirsty for the competition.
Altered strategic positions.
Still without acquisition.
I won’t capitulate,
However, mortality reminds me,
That at this rate,
My failures may be my fate.
Which stones are unturned?
Which bridges shouldn’t I have burned?
Which lessons have I not learned?
Where to strengthen my search?
So many questions, so many dilemmas.
So close, yet so far away.
Was I meant to be treated as an anathema?
So much left on the agenda…
But such mind-shattering evisceration,
Can’t much longer, be tolerated.
Such stains on my soul stretched, starved and separated.
Suffering such saturnine states of sullen segregation.
Will nothing but death acquiesce?
Blood-thirsty for the competition.
Altered strategic positions.
Still without acquisition.
I won’t capitulate,
However, mortality reminds me,
That at this rate,
My failures may be my fate.
Which stones are unturned?
Which bridges shouldn’t I have burned?
Which lessons have I not learned?
Where to strengthen my search?
So many questions, so many dilemmas.
So close, yet so far away.
Was I meant to be treated as an anathema?
So much left on the agenda…
But such mind-shattering evisceration,
Can’t much longer, be tolerated.
Such stains on my soul stretched, starved and separated.
Suffering such saturnine states of sullen segregation.
Will nothing but death acquiesce?
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